


The Razor's Edge: A Jack Savage Adventure

by OccamsSword



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Cover Art, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccamsSword/pseuds/OccamsSword
Summary: In this original classic from the 1960s, Jack Savage, 002, the world's most famous spy, is once again called into action to battle a diabolical mastermind. Together with the lovely and technologically brilliant vixen Skye, can he find the source of the danger in the dense jungle and put a stop to it before the entire region falls into the hands of evil?





	The Razor's Edge: A Jack Savage Adventure

 

**Introduction**

                “Before I kill you, Mr. Savage, let me explain to you the details of my fiendish scheme for world domination…” Our hero is dangling from the villain’s deathtrap; what combination of finely-trained reflexes and gadgets will he use to save himself this time? Whatever it is, it’s sure to look absolutely spectacular.

                Like most of us, my first exposure to Jack Savage was through the movies, particularly the Sean Carroty classics, and it influenced my entire conception of what a spy “should” be as much as it did that of pop culture. Even with the odd fits and starts, such as the version of “The Island of Dr. Meow” that reversed the nationalities of its protagonists and added a betrayal, the basic idea of a suave, tuxedo-clad hero fighting even for Queen and country as he trotted around the globe became embedded in pop culture enough that it’s been parodied countless times. The most recent reboot of the franchise has put Jack Savage in a modern context, trading in his disguised gadgetry for cell phone apps and a “grittier” approach.

                Yet such efforts to distance these characters from their origins can be misleading. Ian Lemming’s own espionage origins in AC10’s most elite unit are often forgotten, as is the fact that both Jack Savage and Skye de Winter are both based on a variety of people with whom Lemming had worked. Even some of the most outlandish gadgets, as I discuss in my own book on the trade, _The Mammal Who Wasn’t There_ , were not only true but sometimes toned down from the originals. It should also be remembered that these works were among the first to show a predator/prey relationship as something other than a shameful secret, to be hidden from polite society, even if they had to do so within the social restrictions of the time.

                Whether or not the adventures of Jack Savage, 002, are “realistic”, though, or if it even should be, this particular adventure is often singled out as the best of the best. The character is rather different than his silver screen counterpart, but the basic conceit—a man, a villain, espionage and technology—remain the same, and universal across time. I was proud to be chosen to edit and slightly abridge this edition, so without further ado, I’ll take you back to 1960 and let you balance on _The Razor’s Edge_.

                                                                                                                -Oswald Maribo

                                                                                                                University of Zootopia Rodentia, August 2017

 

 

**Prologue**

The sun seemed to take its time in setting. There was no hurry. The air shimmered in a golden haze, broken occasionally by a hot wind from the western coast, venturing not far inland as it stirred the cypresses in the valley. Here and there small insects began to sound as they were lured out by the scent of agave, announcing the coming of another hot summer night.

                There were no houses to disturb the view in this remote valley, at least a day’s hike from the nearest village. Guernsero was one of the more rural regions of Mexicow, and most of the tourists who ventured down here, away from the eastern coast, preferred to stay comfortably at the resorts and casinos of Alpacapulco by the sea than to make an exhausting hike up into the hills in this weather.

                Nonetheless, a figure shadowy in the twilight did appear, working its way up to the summit of the mountain at the far end of the valley with an ease of motion that suggested a youthful energy and enthusiasm as well as a familiarity with the terrain. In fact, he would have had an easy time of it either way, as those horns could only belong to an antelope.

                Eventually, the young klipspringer glanced around him and dropped down to wedge himself between two rocks for a better vantage point. He reached into the sturdy canvas rucksack he’d brought with him and drew out a canteen, a notebook with a battered ball-point attached, and a pair of high-powered binoculars. A practiced scan took in the entirety of the valley, catching the last rays of sunlight glinting off the needle-thin river, and as usual, nothing else of any great interest.

                He wasn’t expecting to find anything unusual out here tonight, any more than he had last week. It was from the village he’d come, where they’d pleaded with him to hike out here and help them. He suspected they’d just been impressed by a foreigner’s presence in their midst, even one as low-ranking as a supposed member of the Royal Society for the Preservation of Exotic Flora who was here to spend his time puttering around with plants in the middle of nowhere. Staying as long as he would be to observe meant that he had to make do with little that would be considered of use in his line of work. No matter, though, he’d gotten used to being given few supplies. One could hardly call oneself a proper agent, or properly Badgish, without learning to “rough it” in hostile territory. When he got back, he might just have to have that lovely bovine thing with the tattoo from the tavern take a look at it. What was her name again? He’d have time enough to learn it again later, along with the many other numbers who went through the local watering hole. After all, he’d have to check in by phone there—radio was dead silent out here.

                The tavern: that brought his mind back to the task at hoof. He was looking for any signs of disturbances in the valley and surrounding hill country, purely reconnaissance. True, the villagers had warned him about going out by night. It wasn’t safe, they said, but would go into no further detail, only crossing themselves. Nothing but superstition, of course; there’d been no word about enemy espionage in the area. Still, if it got him what amounted to a paid vacation at the cost of a phone call back to Lowton every week, who was he to complain?

                The night wore on and faded into darkness. Half-lulled to sleep, the buck panned once again across the quiet valley, seeing nothing—

                _No. Wait._

                A tiny point of light had flickered into existence among the trees, then another, and soon a whole procession was closing in on one spot from the edge of the valley.

                Frantically, the klipspringer grabbed for his notebook, doing his best to scrawl down a description of what he was witnessing, pausing every few seconds to double-check, as the lights became visible even from his vantage point. The way they wavered unsteadily meant that they were most likely torches borne by hand, but what sort of ritual or ceremony was going on there, he couldn’t begin to guess. Perhaps the villagers were on to something after all—in which case, he owed the _alcalde_ that stiff drink he’d wagered, just as soon as he’d gotten in contact with HQ.

                As he watched, the trees below rippled against the wind, and peering as far as he could in his binoculars he could just make out the shape of a faint black cloud moving towards him at an incredible speed, stirring the foliage beneath him, and a faint noise came his way. It was time to leave. Hastily repacking his things, he started to rise, panic rising in his chest.

                Something dropped onto him from the treetops.

                Whatever it was, it was fast, and strong, pinning the agent to the ground and snapping ribs beneath his knee. Undisturbed by the struggling, kicking antelope beneath him, it calmly seized his horns and held him in place with firm pressure. One arm rose up, then fell, unseen blades cutting deeply into him. Again, and again, the arm coldly rose and fell, until its victim was no longer moving.

                Almost leisurely, the butcher flipped over the corpse and proceeded with his work. That done, he glanced over to the rucksack lying in the rapidly-spreading pool of blood. Emotionlessly, he rifled through it, setting aside the notebook and throwing the rest over the edge of the cliff. Book in hand, he rose, and swiftly slid down the side of the cliff himself. He had an important meeting to keep, and it wouldn’t due to be late. There would be more blood to shed tonight.

 

**Chapter 1**

                It occurred to Jack Savage that there was perhaps some truth to the old saw that, wherever your heart went, there was your home. In the years since he’d first snuck away from school with his chums as a leveret, he’d slept in innumerable beds and on the floor in countless hotels, the occasional lady’s bedroom, and prison cells more often than he’d care to recall. He had learned to make do with whatever came to hand and improvise in the field. His principal residence off Slothbury in the City would be envied by many, a tidy Georgian two-story with an elegant façade. The inside was rather more barren, the simple necessities arranged in Spartan neatness, and aside from the few trophies Savage permitted himself, it contained little that would cause a Sowtheby’s auctioneer to take notice.

                At this moment, it also contained a tiger attacking Savage.

                The feline bore down on him, seeking to overwhelm him with his sheer size and feline agility, massive even when hunched over into a primal posture. Paws almost the size of Savage’s head swept the air where his ears had been before flattening a second earlier. Lightning-swift kicks meant that his foe was already shifting position before the bunny could hope to tilt him off-balance, and when leaping could have presented an advantage, an elbow blow would be angled his way. Before long, duck and weave as he might, Savage was up against the wall.

                It was exactly where he needed to be. Ducking once more under a downwards hook, he focused power in his heels and leapt, rebounding off the wainscot and angling directly for the tiger’s face. As he raised his arm to swat Savage out of the air, the bunny’s powerful foot caught his fist and forced it backwards, delivering a terrific blow that sent the tiger sprawling heavily to the floor and rattled the china in its cabinet.

                Savage hit the ground heavily, but on both feet. He turned, and facing the tiger, offered him a chair to pull himself up with, as he would have been rather too small for make for an effective brace. “A good showing,” he said, “but one mustn’t forget the importance of the home terrain.”

                With a groan, the tiger rose and shook his head. “Again you surprise me, little brother,” he said, and grinned around his bruise. “This time I was certain you would be unprepared. All this time between missions I am sure you sit around, you drink, you play cards; that you would be soft. How is it that you have come to be the one lecturing _me_ , I do not know.”

                 Jack Savage had met Somsak during a minor diplomatic incident in Southeast Asia several years ago, an incident which had nearly gone south after an unfortunate fit of paranoia had driven the generalissimo into declaring martial law. The tiger, having been with Her Majesty’s government as an agent since before independence, had quickly proven to be as skilled at sabotage as he was in hand-to-hand combat, and had taken a liking to his lapine protégé. His “Little brother” had been so dubbed for the stripes on his face and ears, and he made sure to visit.

                “I may not have a proper practice hall, but it wounds me that you think I’m entirely idle,” Savage replied. In fact, his days had become rather routine: up in the morning at six o’clock, read the morning’s paper, exercise, lunch and a drink, further exercise, and so on. If he bothered to play cards at all these days, it was generally as a solo exercise to keep himself focused. “I have to find a way to improvise against a brilliant tutor, after all.” At last, he smiled, warming to his friend. It was curious, though. “You might have called on me at a more suitable place for sparring, though—might I assume that your presence here means that mine has been requested at the office?”

                “You may. It seems like your luck is turning around, my practical brother. I asked if I might be the one to deliver it. The telephone just lacks a personal touch. We can leave whenever you’re properly prepared.”

                “Shouldn’t take long. But I think we’d better get you some ice first.”

                “You always were known for your mercy for the vanquished,” chuckled Somsak.

 

                As the duo entered the rather nondescript office suite that was home to the head of AC10, Miss Bunnypenny favored Savage with one of her rare and radiant smiles. “Good morning, agents,” she said, lightly tossing her lop ears back over her shoulder. “Truth be told, I’m glad you’re here especially, 002. H is in high dudgeon today, and if there’s anyone capable of handling whatever it is that’s at issue today, it’s you.”

                “Yes, I think you rather ought to know how awfully good I was at handling things with skill, Bunnypenny,” observed Savage.

                “You cad, you. Go on in.”

                Only his secretary could have told H’s mood so well, as his face was the same carefully constructed mask of neutrality that he wore at all times. The stallion glanced up from the papers he was shuffling and gestured to a seat by way of invitation. “Any thoughts on Mexicow, 002?” he asked without further preamble.

                “Went there on holiday once. Pleasant weather, but a tad dull for my tastes—not much to do but sit around poolside and work on poker and bridge.”

                “I _hope_ you’ll find it more exciting this time around, then. Let me fill you in on what’s going on.” H spread a map of the country in question on his desk, tapping a hoof to direct attention. “Approximately six weeks ago, the Mexicownan authorities rang us up over a series of strange readings reported by air traffic in the southwestern part of the country. Seems something is affecting their radar, just when they’re trying to increase patrols in those parts.”

                Savage frowned. “Another Bermuleda Triangle? Rubbish. I’ve not seen any briefings about Red movement in the area. And if they suspect rebel or common criminal activity, why turn to us? If they can’t handle it themselves, surely the ZIA is closer at hand.”

                “Our thoughts precisely, 002, we’re looking into the matter. In the meantime, as a personal favor to their own head, we assigned Agent Hornigold to the case.” H next slid across a photograph of a klipspringer, young, in fatigues. “A photographer and reconnaissance specialist, fresh out of the Army—just the sort of job to test his abilities in a more delicate sort of fieldwork.”

                “I take it he failed.”

                “Would that we knew for certain.” H’s expression grew sterner. “We’ve not heard a peep from him in two weeks. In other words, 002, your job is to complete Ronald Hornigold’s mission and bring him back, alive if possible, or confirm his fate if the worst has happened. You’ll get a more thorough briefing shortly, but first, there’s something else. You’ll be working with a partner. We can’t afford to keep losing our field agents, and we need someone with technical know-how and prior experience in this sort of environment.”

                “Not a problem at all, H,” Savage replied confidently, turning in his chair. “Somsak? I suppose it’ll be even more like old times than I’d thought. I trust we shan’t have an issue putting this to rights straight away.”

                Instead, Somsak shook his head and leaned back against the wall. “Not this time, little brother. I will be returning home soon; as I said, I just wanted to make sure you were not becoming soft in ‘semi-retirement’. Best of luck dealing with my counterpart, though. I hear you know how to treat a lady.” His grin showed an impressive number of teeth.

                “He’s talking about me. Of course, that last part is rather debatable, Jack.”

                The voice was instantly familiar: female, Zootopian-accented, and smooth with a hint of sharpness refined into an edge somewhere between a taunt and a verbal caress. It perfectly suited the woman who was now casually strolling through the door. An arctic vixen, she was particularly short for her species, but no less shapely for all that. Though today she was wearing a modish blue dress straight from a boutique in Mayfur, she had seemed more at home still in a pair of overalls the last time Savage had seen her, and she moved with the confident determination of someone who was used to finding problems and fixing them. Her eyes sparkled like twin lakes in the fields of snow that had given her species its stark fur color, and she’d fixed them upon Savage the moment she walked in, her expression showing more predatory amusement even than the tiger’s.

                _Skye de Winter_.

                “You shouldn’t doubt yourself, you’re a perfect lady,” said Savage, rising to his feet. “But what is this, H? You don’t mean to tell me _she’s_ to be my partner? Out of the question! Where to begin? She may have mechanical skills, true, but I seem to recall that the last time she used them was to build and maintain an advanced missile launcher for a madman bent on world domination! Has she even been in the field since then? If we’ve already lost one agent, this could be a much more dangerous mission than initially thought! And…well, she’s not even Badgish, after all.” Savage snorted indignantly.

                “Let’s not forget that you couldn’t have destroyed it without my help, either, nor made it out of the caldera in time.” Skye folded her arms across her chest crossly. “Dr. Meow was a psychopath, yes, I realized that long before you arrived. And if you’ll remember, I was the one who broke you out of prison so we could escape. You didn’t seem to be complaining, either, as we left…it’s only thanks to your _good graces_ that I faced no charges when I returned to the mainland.”

                H cleared his throat. “Besides which, Ms. De Winter has just finished obtaining her citizenship. As to her competence, I believe your own record is the best testimony to the efficacy of a trial by fire. You’ve gone behind our back before, 002, when you wouldn’t stop to wait for orders,” he said severely, before his expression softened. “But I’ve always had faith that you would pull through successfully and ensure that the interests of Great Badgertain were carried out in the end. Still, best not to have any more of that, so think of it as getting to spend more time with your co-workers, or keep her close at hand, as you get to work.” The stallion chuckled once, lightly.

                Savage hesitated. He’d never expected to see Skye again after ensuring that she wouldn’t be arrested by the ZIA for her role in the mad doctor’s plot. The last time he’d had a woman with him on a mission had been Vesper—and he willed himself not to think about her, except one day a year. But Skye was something altogether different. The way they’d worked together back in the fortress had been incredible, and Savage was sure that her crack shooting was one of the only reasons they were still alive. And there was just something about her will—but that was not to be considered now.

                He composed himself. “Well. Certainly, H. I’m sure we’ll sort this all out before any complications arise.”

                “That’s the spirit, 002. Head down to speak with Q, and you’ll be given a look at some of his newest playthings. I’m sure your partner will appreciate that. More details will be forthcoming, and your plane will be leaving soon afterwards. Expect someone on the ground from Mexicownan authorities as soon as you touch down.”

                “One hopes they’ll be able to find me without disappearing—and that they have some tequila on tap.”

                “Well, good luck, 002. Agent De Winter. We’ll await your word, and look forward to another smashing success. Try not to have _too_ much fun together.”

                Savage considered a moment, shooting a sidelong glance at the vixen as he paused in the doorway. “Well. No promises.”


End file.
